


Bread(crumbs)

by EvelynsGrave



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attachment Issues, Backstory, Betrayal, Child Abandonment, Child Soldiers, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Headcanon, Love/Hate, Mental Health Issues, Mild Smut, Mommy Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stalking, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, non-BETA’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvelynsGrave/pseuds/EvelynsGrave
Summary: She was all about empty threats and feigned callousness, as if she was punishing him for having a glimpse of her real self before. But the thought occurred to him only in the aftermath, as he still couldn’t believe the sight of her in the flesh.Still alive. Still the enemy. The memories of her still a forbidden story to tell.Mourning’s over, handsome,so said the smirk on her face.





	1. (Don’t) Die

**Author's Note:**

> I had to question myself why I haven't written an Aeon story, since all I ever write about is angst and sad stuff. So here it is!
> 
> This is character-background heavy, and in this first chapter it’s all about Ada. I took inspiration from her backstory in the Kings’s Foundation manhua, but this is mostly my headcanon (if you got time to read about the manhua’s entire plot in the wiki, do so, you won’t regret it. It blew my mind, lol)

> more than anything  
i want to save you  
from myself 
> 
> \- rupi kaur, milk and honey, the breaking, pg. 90 

_Muscles aching from carrying the heavy gun all day, she wipes off the grime caking her cheeks with the back of her hand. The sky had turned dark grey instead of a fiery orange that was expected at that hour. Nightfall is approaching, and so is another heavy downpour._

_The whole squad had traversed through swamps and crawled through muddy fields for miles, lifting their weapons to keep them from being submerged in water, tiny fingers trained not to rest on the trigger. They have been tasked to observe for any signs of the military in the nearby village, ensuring that it is safe for The Leader to establish a stronghold east of it. _

_She knew not one soul, from her squad at least, who followed The Leader of their own will, or understood what he was fighting for in the first place. They were all too busy caring about the constant rumbling in their stomachs and the fear of not having a roof above their heads during the nightly storms and roars of thunder. Some of them were too broken to be moved by his fiery speeches as they cried over the loss of their mothers and fathers in a blaze of gunfire and explosions that was now their world. This quickly changed when in the midst of The Leader’s passionate speech, guns were placed in their hands like toys. Suddenly, the grieving had the means to exact vengeance. The lost and weary have been given their purpose. The orphaned have found their new guardian. Children are indeed malleable and quick to learn— the most obedient soldiers one could amass in a civil war._

_Perhaps she was smarter than the rest, as she understood that The Leader was no god unlike what he led them to believe, and will soon be dead, just like her and the rest of them. _

_The eldest of them, a 14-year-old boy who lost his entire village in one of the first military raids since the war had started, was appointed squad leader due to seniority. He tells them to take camp by the river so they could wash the mud off their clothes. They will be scouting the village in daylight tomorrow for it’s already too dark, and they need to be able to blend in if spotted, to look like the normal, innocent children that they were not._

_No, she protests, it would be unwise to settle with no certainty if the enemy is near. She was the most nimble of the squad, her stature short and scrawny, enabling her to fit in hiding places that only she, among them, has the wits to spot. I’ll go tonight, she volunteers. Just a quick survey so they can rest easy and better prepare for tomorrow. _

_That, and she was hungry. _

_She planned to scout, steal, and eat without the intention of sharing with six other hungry mouths. _

_The small, rural village was surrounded by a sea of tropical trees. Mud houses lined both sides of the unpaved main road. Its inhabitants moved on their feet with a pace indicative of light apprehension, perhaps from the threat of the impending rainfall, or the constant worry over the looming violence. But there were no soldiers in sight. The presence of people still roaming about at the hour seemed to confirm that there was no curfew. _

_So there is no overt military presence here, she concludes as she watches from a distance. They would have to make sure in the daytime as planned, but for now, it’s safe to say that she should move on to her next mission of silencing the gurgling in her stomach. Footsteps light and graceful as a cat’s, she makes her way to the back of the nearest row of houses, eyes and ears vigilant. If she had arrived a bit later in the dead of night, the mission could’ve been a cinch; but today is a day just like any other and she would have to work hard for food. _

_Her salvation came in the form of a tiny hut with its window of hay propped open. Contrary to what she had anticipated, it was almost too easy: the owner was not in sight, unlike the bread that was left on a wooden table. There was no source of light in the entire house. It was an open invitation to come in and help herself. _

_Almost too excitedly, she lifts herself up to squeeze in through the window and tip-toes to the table. The bread felt hard in her tiny hand. It was old and have been left there for some time, but she’s not complaining; a smirk forms in her lips as she turns back to the window to make her escape— but in her eagerness she had failed to notice that heavy rain had started to pour outside. _

_She curses under her breath over the thought of how tedious the trek would be through the mud and darkness. She can tuck the bread under her shirt to protect it from getting soggy, or she could eat wet bread on the way back— it shouldn’t matter, as long as she gets something in her stomach—_

_—the front door opens, and the soldier in her quickly drops the bread to grab the gun that slipped from her clumsy, nervous grip. Doomed, exposed, dead. That’s what she gets for wasting precious milliseconds. Frozen in place, she comes face to face with her grim reaper: an old, frail-looking man, frozen by fear and surprise as she was._

_His lips were pursed in a permanent frown from old age, the wrinkles of his face ever so slightly moving from an expression of fright that was gone as quickly as it appeared. It only takes one yell to alert the townsfolk to the presence of what was obviously a rebel. But he kept quiet. His eyes move to the gun on her side, then to the bread on the ground that had rolled a few steps in front of him. He blinks a few times in silence._

_He reaches down for the bread, rubs it a few times against his clothing, and hands it to her in a gesture that was more friendly than afraid. _

_Then came a loud boom of thunder that sends her in a jolt of panic; she grabs her gun, firmly this time, and aims at his chest. _

_She’s killed dozens of men in uniform, but never an unarmed person. Tonight might be the night that she finally does— but why, why does her first one have to be this frail, helpless, generous being who is already approaching the end of his life?_

_He blinks a few more times, but there was an odd, calm look in his eyes. Was it an invitation to shoot? Or a realization that she couldn’t? _

_And then she realized, his arm was still held out in offering, the bread slightly shaking from his unsteady grip, mirroring the unsteady aim of her gun. _

_As quick as the lightning outside, she snatches the bread off his hand and bolts to the open window. She stuffs it down her throat on her way back despite her appetite escaping her from the encounter. _

_She reaches the squad by the river with good news and a satiated belly. _

**~**

Standing near the middle of a bridge threatening to collapse into the abyss, she cursed at the wind for the predicament she had been thrown into. 

She’d come a long way from being a child soldier in a poor, war-torn country to being a young mercenary in the most powerful country in the world. This is her first big mission— and the promise of handsome pay and an impressive reputation awaits— if only she could get her hands on that vial that is tightly secured in the hand of an unlikely ally suddenly turned adversary. 

She stares into his defiant eyes. They are blue as the ocean and are most expressive. His lips are full and youthful, and very soft— as she had found out during that moment that would’ve been tender if only it wasn’t forced and deceitful. 

This fool. This naive, impudent, pretty fool who chose the absolute worst time and place to be broken from her spell. 

One shot is all it takes. She’d add one more bullet wound to the existing one that was meant to be in her body, had he not gone a little too far to impress her. There couldn’t be any other explanation for such actions, as far she’d like to believe.

But then again, none of the men who fell at her feet before had done something as bold and stupid. 

As selfless. 

The concept was alien to the mind of someone who had learned too early that such virtue is equivalent to a death sentence.

She tries to focus by steadying the aim of her gun, but in a move that will haunt her dreams for years, he lowers his weapon, dares her to shoot, and proclaims that she couldn’t. 

The audacity. 

Pull the trigger and get this over with, a part of her cries. Prove him wrong. Shoot him on the thigh, on the other shoulder, anywhere to incapacitate him long enough so you can grab what you need and leave— 

But the realization that it all meant the same hit her like a ton of bricks— she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. 

She killed dozens of men before. Murderous men, innocent men, men who were in the way of her objective. Just like this one. But why, why does he have to be this earnest, beautiful, impressionable being who showed no hesitance to save her life? 

She knew she had lost the game the moment she tended to him in the sewers.

Shame and defeat. Failure and regret. Those feelings should be flooding her core as soon as she brought her weapon down, but none of them haunted her in the moment. It was something else instead, a tender feeling somewhat familiar, emerging from the recesses of her mind—

Annette Birkin’s bullet brings her back to reality, this time hitting its intended target. 

Ever the fool, he comes to her rescue just in the nick of time. For the last time, he wasted no second risking his life for her. The sample falls to the depths of nowhere, and she will soon follow and take her down with him if he refuses to let go. 

Of course he wouldn’t. “Shut up— I’ve got you,” he responds at her protest. 

“It’s not worth it.” _I’m not worth it._

Heroes like him never make it out unscathed or alive in a world like this. Somehow he knew and willingly embraced it. So does that really make him a fool? It doesn’t matter. He’s a fool now for risking his life for the likes of her. She didn’t deserve him as much he deserved none of the lies and betrayal that she had brought upon him. 

She falls, but not before she spoke to him the sincerest words she had ever spoken to another soul.

By a combination of sheer luck and skill, she didn’t die that day. But a part of her did. 

She returns to her employer with the sample and a shattered frame of reality.

**~**

_The next morning went on as planned. They observed from afar and confirmed among themselves that the village was clear. It was during noon, when the sun was its hottest, that the question about food came up. Look up in the trees, the squad leader says, gather as many fruits as you can before it becomes too dark. And so they did— but it proved to be too difficult— and they failed to gather enough. A fight broke out when a few of them started to help themselves as soon as the fruits were dropped to the ground by those who had hacked them from the trees._

_Let’s loot the village, cried the others, and to that the eldest ones including the leader protested. Another fight was threatening to break out when she stepped up. I’ll see what I can gather, she volunteers again, but it’s safer and quicker if I go alone. _

_Maybe they’re desperate, or plain stupid, as nobody was suspect of her intention to outsmart them yet again._

_And maybe she’s desperate and stupid too, as she came back to the same house that she had looted the night before. _

_Chances are that the old fool will do nothing about her presence again, and maybe he’d be so kind to personally hand her more food this time. _

_Old fool. She likes and loathes the description. _

_Was he a sympathizer? A potential ally for when the inevitable invasion of their village by The Leader comes? Maybe his children had joined the rebellion, as runaways are one of their common sources of recruits. _

_She peeks into the house through the window, incredulous at how careless this old fool was, leaving it open for her yet again. The house was dark and cold as it had been the night before, and to her surprise, she finds not one, but three loaves of bread sitting on the table. _

_There was something else too, but she had to go in and see what it was. _

_Beside the three loaves, a red garment lays, folded neatly. Determined not to make the same mistake twice, she quickly wraps the loaves in the red garment and leaves the house._

_He couldn’t have left gifts like that by mistake. An old, generous fool. How lucky was she to have walked into the right place, perhaps at the wrong time, but with the right person that night?_

_She unwraps the loaves from the red garment. Her comrades will gladly kill each other over a piece of food. She’s seen it happen before. The youngest and the most hesitant always die first. She can break off half a loaf for herself and offer them the rest, but that would give away that she had taken more than her share. And so she eats an entire loaf, leaving six mouths to fight for two. Survival of the fittest. _

_Satisfied, she wipes the crumbs off her mouth as she finally takes a good look at the red clothing. _

_It was a small raincoat, perhaps owned by a little girl, as given away by the small red butterflies stitched in the back and near the pockets. It was obviously old and had been worn before as evidenced by the tiniest of holes. It is pretty. She likes it, but she’d be stupid to come back to her squad wearing it with pride. What a shame, she thinks._

_She hacks off a large banana leaf from a nearby tree and does her best to wrap the raincoat like a present, afterwards digging a hole in the ground to place it there like a treasure, finally marking it with a stack of stones. _

_In three days, amidst the sounds of gunfire and agonizing screams not too far away, she would come back for it. _

**~**

Bold isn’t what always men are attracted to. Some prefer plain and simple. Some prefer sweet and feminine. The ones who are drawn to the seductive, voluptuous type are the easiest ones to manipulate, and most often than not are the most boring and amateur. Regardless of preferences, she has learned through experience that the key is confidence. Nothing commands attention and admiration like a woman who is sure of herself. Get them to pay attention, and the rest shall be easy. 

And so she wears red— a color that makes her feel the most confident. Combined with the sultry sway of her hips and the brush of her hand on certain places, she silenced their intuition and got them to abandon their doubts about her motives.

For some reason, the color also reminded her of new beginnings, but she does not remember why. 

She wore the most beautiful red dress to Spain, knowing that she’d run into him again. 

He thought that he’d seen right through her, seen her as more than the manipulative and cunning spy that she was. And for that she had two missions in her mind the entire time— to obtain the sample as she’s been hired to do, and to prove him wrong for ever thinking that he had successfully broken down her walls back then in Raccoon. 

And as the helicopter whisked her away from the island, the sample that she stole from him at gunpoint safe in her hands, she had a smug smile on her lips. She was successful. She had won this time, left him feeling like the fool he is for daring to proclaim that he knew her beyond anything than what she projected herself to be. 

But then again, she also left him with a means to escape death, just as she did before. That, and she’d saved him from the shadows countless times, ensuring that he was successful in his mission that was again vastly different from hers. 

So who’s the real fool here? 

Don’t worry, she tells herself as she looks in the mirror, admiring herself in her beautiful red armor. There will be a next time, as he had proven himself to be more than capable of surviving even without her help. Let him think that she uses and abuses him for her own merit. Let him think that she enjoys toying with him in the process, and that to her it’s nothing more than a game of wits. 

There will be a next time— and she’s very much looking forward to it. 

**~**

_She observes the old fool from afar every day while hiding amongst the thick trees of the jungle. _

_His gait was unsteady as he had gotten bow-legged from old age. His back was arched as well, and he wore the same dark blue beret as he did the night that they met. He worked as a farmer in the fields nearby, as the majority of the people there do, but he was certainly a little too old for it, she thought. He rose in the wee hours of the morning and comes home pretty late, as his legs were a little too slow for travel. _

_Maybe the red raincoat belonged to his daughter, or a granddaughter. Whoever it was, she was gone, as he lives alone in his mud house. _

_She never stole from him again, but sometimes she would take a peek in his open window just to make sure he’s alright— and she couldn’t help but notice how lonely he looks, those downturned eyes constantly wearing a sad, almost pleading expression. She felt for him, but she does not understand why. _

_One morning, the squad leader and the two other boys that went with him to be on the lookout did not come back. _

_What do we do now, they panicked. Maybe they found food and shelter and abandoned us, some said. Maybe they’re dead, she said. Most often than not, that is the correct answer. After being threatened with weapons, one of the girls had no choice but to go after them and find out what happened. She too, did not come back. _

_Abandon ship, said the majority. Stick together for a higher chance of survival, said the rest. Neither will work, she says, but only to herself. They were fools, all of them, as they had been the day that they joined the cause that none of them understood. _

_In the dead of night, she was woken up by odd sounds coming from far away, masked by the sound of rainfall and thunder. As her senses woke up one by one, she slowly recognized the sound of war. Her comrades lay still in slumber, oblivious to the sound that they should all be familiar with. _

_With her cat-like grace and lightness, she gets up and runs to the village where her suspicions were proven correct. _

_The military had made its way there, most likely from intel on what The Leader had planned to do. Screams of women and children flooded her ears, and for the first time in her life, she wished the sound of thunder was louder so it could drown out their painful cries. She clutched hard at her weapon as she makes her way to her usual spot during patrol, shielding her eyes from the rain._

_But the old fool was nowhere in sight, and his house was ablaze. _

_She runs to change her vantage point, desperately trying to make out his form among the countless shadows that ran and fell from the gunfire. But she did not find his familiar waddling, unsteady gait, and her heart broke into a thousand shards at the realization that had he made it out of his home, he would not be able to outrun the spray of bullets. _

_He’s gone. And if he isn’t— he will be soon._

_Embracing her weapon, she makes her way through the thick forest. She finds the stones she stacked on that spot days ago and furiously dug for her treasure— his present. _

_Donning the red raincoat, she rests her weapon against the young banana tree. With both hands, she pulls the hood over her head. Her eyes burned, and she blinks a few times, wipes the tears— no, the rain, she tells herself, with the back of her hand. _

_An old fool like him wouldn’t survive this world, she assures herself. There was nothing she could have done to change his fate. He invited death the moment he showed her kindness, and maybe she should have repaid him with a quick bullet to the head that night, to spare him this fate that was not as swift and graceful._

_But maybe she had been the bigger fool for ever showing him weakness in hesitating, for ever thinking that she could protect him and that they could be allies as she watched over him, for running to his aid tonight, thinking that she could guide him along this maze of a forest to escape with that slow, bow-legged gait of his. _

_Next time, she promised herself, as she wipes her eyes again, she won’t be a fool like him. _

_She maps out the direction to where her squad was camped and runs the opposite way. _

**~**

Ever since their encounter in Spain, she developed a new past-time: watching his every step in stealth. 

It feels like her own little reconnaissance mission. Sometimes she uses her binoculars, perched on top of a building right across his high-rise apartment; sometimes she’d be in disguise among the crowd, testing to see how close she could get without blowing her cover. It had become her favorite game.

His adventures as a normal person fascinated her entirely. Sometimes he’d go to the movies and dine out, most often with that girl he survived Raccoon City with. Other times it would be a random woman who he never sees again, but those times are seldom, and she deduced that he isn’t the type to fool around, contrary to how he carries himself. 

But most times he preferred solitude. He’s also a man of routine. In the morning he goes to run in the park. In the evening, at least every other day, he goes to the liquor store, or to his favorite bar down the street, sitting by himself for hours. She had to stop herself a few times from showing up and walking up to him as he seemed to enjoy his solitude that much. That, and she’s afraid that she might not be the companion he’d prefer. 

And then it got old. Simply watching from a distance failed to fulfill the connection she’s looking for. She longed to see the place where he lives, to feel much closer to him than ever before. 

So she used her skills to her advantage, breaking in his apartment like a thief set out on a heist. She’d remove her stilettos, careful not to leave marks on the carpet; she’d skip wearing perfume to avoid leaving a trail of her scent. She roamed about in silence and couldn’t help but feel warm inside from being in the same place that he calls home. She looks at his small dining table and imagines enjoying a meal with him; she saw his pristine kitchen and wonders what he craves to eat after being away from home for so long. She peeks into his bedroom and chills immediately ran down her spine from the thoughts that invaded her head. When his grey little kitten brushed itself on her leg, she had to stop herself from cooing as she picked it up and caressed it. All these years she had imagined him to be a dog person, and that he, like a typical bachelor, was untidy; but in her exploration she realized that he was the complete opposite of the image of him she had formed in her head, and thus felt disconnected from him even more. 

In the solitude of her own bedroom, she hugged herself at the thought of craving that connection— something she felt only with him. Maybe she had felt it before, and if she did it was such a long time ago that it had buried itself in her mind. 

Maybe one day she’ll have the courage to announce her presence, and hopefully he’d let her stay for the night so she could leave at dawn so as not to overstay her welcome, hoping that there will be a next time. 

And that’s when she realized that she had doomed herself by feeling this way, stuck in an endless loop of being his savior, his guardian angel, his secret admirer who’s too much in denial to come out of the shadows. For he had made her feel human again— just when she was so sure that her humanity had left her a long time ago. 

How dare he bring about this confusion in her, to compromise her, to make her life complicated— she thought bitterly as she wallows in her conflicting feelings of burning desire and passionate hatred of him. And in the peak of this internal struggle, she wished he’d just die— she should’ve left him bleeding in the sewers, shot him on the bridge, left him to be killed in Spain for her own good— so she could move on and live her life like she had always known it— alone and in need of no one. 

He broke her, and she would never forgive him for it, just as she would never forgive herself for allowing him to.

If the day comes that she finds it in herself to forgive both of them, then she’ll allow herself to be saved by him— to pull her out of the dark hole that she had been in all her life. 

Until then, she will fight him to the death, use him every chance she gets, tease him to come close and cruelly abandon him after, leaving behind a trail that she prays he’ll keep following— up to the day that she’s ready to run into his arms.


	2. Stay (Dead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was all about empty threats and feigned callousness, as if she was punishing him for having a glimpse of her real self before. But the thought occurred to him only in the aftermath, as he still couldn’t believe the sight of her in the flesh.
> 
> Still alive. Still the enemy. The memories of her still a forbidden story to tell.
> 
> _Mourning’s over, handsome,_ so said the smirk on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is headcanon-heavy, and will focus on childhood backstory, just like the previous chapter. Trigger warning: Hefty dose of emotional trauma and A+ parenting ahead.

> We accept the love we think we deserve
> 
> \- Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being A Wallflower

_“You wanna ride the ferris wheel tomorrow?”_

_“Nope... I wanna drive a bumper car!”_

_“Not until you’re 8. But I can drive while you sit beside me.”_

_“Hoooookay. Can we get ice cream after?”_

_“Of course.”_

_Friday is amusement park day. He knew they’d go when she asks him which rides he’s interested in the day before. Of course it always depends on what she feels like on the day itself, but nonetheless he never fails to get excited about it._

_What does he think of her? That maybe, she’s a little too— unpredictable? Temperemental? Somewhat hard to approach, as he always had to tip-toe around her. Nevertheless, at her best, she’s really sweet, and always tells him that she loves him, and what does he really think of her ultimately? Well, that she was the world._

_They never went anywhere that Friday because she didn’t come home. His dad acted weird. I know what happened, he wanted to tell him. She just changed her mind. She tends to do that a lot when she’s really sad. She wouldn’t pay him any attention, or get really angry and distant, but she always comes back around. You see, we just need to wait some more, he thought. She was gonna teach him how to drive a bumper car. He was really looking forward to that. Oh well, there’s always next Friday and the amusement park isn’t going anywhere, right?_

_By the second night that she failed to show up, he suddenly found himself face to face with a police officer who promised him that they’re going to find her._

_Miss police officer comes back the day after and she was all smiles— so what else could it be but good news?_

_They’ve found her and she’s completely safe._

_So where is she now, and when is she coming back? He asks. Your dad is going to talk to you about it, she said sweetly, and with that she leaves with her partner, waving at him from her patrol car. He waves back, completely elated, feeling like he was one of those kids helped by the superhero from the cartoons he watches, only that it happened for real. The best day ever—_

_— until dad tells him that she’s not coming back. Something about her being unwell, her mind not being in the right place, and how it’s better if she stays away._

_Think of it like she had died, dad said, and that they need to mourn her so they can move on._

_How does he mourn someone who isn’t truly gone?_

_Dad really didn’t have an answer for him, and it scared him that he seemed equally lost, but somehow, dad found a way by not ever speaking of her again. It really didn’t stop him from crying himself to sleep, or from feeling unworthy to the point of feeling nonexistent, but if the adults don’t know the answer then there must be none._

_Was it okay to feel sad and angry? Even if she’s sick and it’s for the best? Nobody asked him how he felt. They always said boys aren’t supposed to cry or talk a lot._

_Time passed. The constant feeling of emptiness was starting to feel like a normal part of him. He was trying to turn out okay despite it. After all, he can’t let his father down for doing his best to fill the space that was empty so suddenly. Dad was rather passive, but he was kind and taught him how to be kind. They only have each other now, and it’s only fair that they both carry the cross. _

_Sometimes he wishes that he can share the bottle with him, too. Dad tries to hide it from him, but he’d often catch him anyway when he comes down the stairs late at night. And it seemed to help him cope a lot. It must be effective. He ought to try it someday when he’s grown._

_Three days before his ninth birthday, he empties out the mailbox and found one letter addressed to him. Woah— he thought as he stared at his full name written on the envelope— he really is growing up. The only letters he’s ever gotten are scratch papers with silly heart doodles from some girls at school. But this one’s the real deal._

_He excitedly but carefully tore it open to expose a birthday card._

_Happy birthday love. I miss you every day. Mommy._

_...what now? _

**~**

The inevitable nightmares after Raccoon City consist of gruesome creatures, violent deaths, gore, guts, and utter chaos. 

But there were nightmares that are odd because they’re beautiful. Painful, but strangely comforting. 

Sometimes it’s the graceful sway of her form as she leaves him behind, her red dress a sharp but refreshing contrast to the grime and darkness. Sometimes it’s the feel of her lips from a kiss that meant nothing to her— but will stay with him forever. 

A lot of times he begs. Begs her to stay, begs her not to let go of his hand, begs her to believe him when he tells her that she’s worth the bullet he took for her. 

The look in her eyes as he patched her up in the sewers and how her voice slightly trembled with fear, or softened in concern, all the minute changes in her expressions— he’s seen them before. Hiding it from him was futile, as he spent his early years too much around it. Somewhere underneath that armor is a storm of conflict, the good side threatening to emerge victorious if only she would let it. On that fateful encounter on the bridge, he challenged her to give in, only to fail her mere moments after. 

He was so close. 

What could’ve happened if that bullet missed her shoulder, if the bridge didn’t fall apart? He dreams about the potential outcome time and time again, but it always ends with her slipping away, leaving him shattered and dealing with a pain so familiar as he had always carried it with him. Even as the years flew by, she was always at the back of his mind, appearing in his dreams every now and then to say goodbye as quickly as she said hello.

One day, she comes out of the grave. 

He turned as pale as a ghost upon the sight of her in the form of a blurry photograph in the briefing room. He had himself convinced that he was seeing things until the name at the bottom of the picture proved otherwise. 

And he couldn’t be more wrong to think that it was enough to prepare him for their inevitable encounter in Spain. Her armor had grown ten times thicker. She was all about empty threats and feigned callousness, as if she was punishing him for having a glimpse of her real self before. But the thought occurred to him only in the aftermath, as he still couldn’t believe the sight of her in the flesh.

Still alive. Still the enemy. The memories of her still a forbidden story to tell. 

_Mourning’s over, handsome,_ so said the smirk on her face. 

But she doesn’t know that he’s been there before. 

And he’s too busy being drawn to the flames to realize it himself. 

**~**

_Dear mommy_

_I dont understand why you left and didnt say goodbye to me or daddy? Where are you? Are you in the hospital beacause dad said your sick and your mind is not doing good. And when is the doctor going to let you out and can we visit you because i miss you? I was really sad when you left but its ok now that you wrote me I just want to see you. I’m grown up now and I dont go to the <strike>amous</strike> amuesement park anymore I just ride my bike or skateboard with my friends. I crashed a few times into some bushes but Im getting good at it. Anyway I’m running out of space Please write me back or come visit me. It’s my birthday and I wanna spend it with you again maybe dad will be angry but we don’t have to tell him._

_Leon Scoot Kennedy_

_“Hey there kid, how’s it going?”_

_“Oh hey, I’ve been waiting for you! Will you help me send my letter?”_

_“Here let me see... huh. There’s no address here.”_

_“But I don’t know where she lives.”_

_“You need to write the person’s address in the envelope otherwise we won’t know where to send it.”_

_“Yeah but she wrote me this letter—_

_“Does it have her address on it?”_

_“...No.”_

_“Well... is there someone you can ask who might know?”_

_“No one knows! And I can’t— well— shit.”_

_“Language, kid.”_

**~**

There’s a ghost in his apartment. 

At first, he had nothing to go off with but mere intuition; an odd feeling that someone had walked around the living room or the kitchen, maybe opened the door to his room and snooped around. Something about the air was different, but he brushed it off as a figment of his imagination. 

Eventually, the ghost became a little more daring. It was tentative but grew more curious. Chairs had moved away from the table slightly. The hangers in the closet are suddenly spaced a little too far apart. So it wanted to know what he likes to wear. Apparently it found his stash of liquor and was also curious about what he likes to drink. It’s been checking the labels of each bottle and now they’re all facing front. 

Finally, the ghost grew emboldened or impatient, as it threw all subtlety out the window. It demanded to be acknowledged. It drank his booze in the kitchen and didn’t bother to reposition the chair it sat on. It left a titillating, floral scent everywhere; he could smell it in his couch, his bathroom, his goddamn bed— the ghost had laid on his bed and its scent was all over his sheets and pillows, driving him mad as he tossed and turned alone in his slumber. The kitten was ignoring all his timed meals but was never hungry. So the ghost was befriending his pet, too. 

Clearly, it’s time to give it a piece of his mind— if he can even figure out what he thinks of this intrusion.

He grabs a piece of paper and thought long and hard about what to say. 

Stay out of my life. Stay the night. 

Come here. Go away. 

In the end, before his head imploded, he settled on writing down a rather safe and neutral message: 

Stop feeding my cat. 

If he never gets a response, he wouldn’t have anything to lose; the message was sent nonetheless and it was no desperate plea. That’s infinitely better than writing a heartfelt one that was to be read by nobody. 

But as he came home later that day, he got his response in the form of a sultry voice coming from behind him, the familiar floral scent invading his nostrils as the voice drew nearer. 

“Can’t help it. I’ve got a soft spot for cute and needy creatures that follow me everywhere.” 

He turned around. The ghost was beautiful in red. She grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall, her lips hungry for his but repulsed by it just the same. She wanted a proper tour of his home and this was her way of asking. 

He’s more than happy to accomodate. 

He guided her to the soft cushions of the couch, her ravenous mouth never leaving his. Her nimble hands ran all over his chest and pulled his shirt over his head in a demanding fashion. When he attempted to reach behind her to undo her dress, she slapped his hands away, reminding him that she isn’t the type who played fair. 

Never was, never will. 

They traded the comfort of the cushions for the cold, hard surfaces of the counters in the kitchen. There, she at least let him run his hands all over her breasts and silky thighs— but she was still ahead in the game, as she kept hers busy pulling down everything below his waist, essentially stripping him bare. 

He tested the waters again by slowly reaching under her dress, and to his luck, she let him pull down her underwear, signaling that it’s time for the final leg of the tour in the confines of his bedroom. 

And as he lost himself inside her, one arm curled firmly around her waist as he took her from behind— he told himself that all he had to do was play along, because she was going to let him catch her in the end— fuck, she was letting him have the time of his life, even as she refused to be rid of her armor that was the red dress, depriving him of the sight of her in her purest form. 

He finishes— collapsing onto the bed, spent, wanting and waiting to be held.

Not gonna happen. 

She was gone as soon as it was over. She was too proud for caresses underneath the sheets; too elusive even for a rushed exit in the wee hours of the morning. 

She left him bare. Empty. Used. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time. 

Next time he just has to be better. Maybe then, she’ll stay a little longer. 

She’ll be back. And she’ll keep feeding the cat.

Women. 

**~**

_On his ninth birthday, he learned that an address is required in order to send a letter in the mail._

_In high school, he learned that mentally ill people don’t just get picked up from the streets to be shoved into a hospital._

_In the academy, he learned that missing adults who have been found have the right not to disclose their address to the person who was looking for them. _

_In his first visit to his father’s house as a policeman, he found himself clutching an envelope in his hand with no return address, the letter inside of it penned by a ghost that continued to linger. _

_He’ll track her down. Demand answers. Tell her how much of a monster she is and ask her to stop her perpetual torture of him in the form of birthday cards and well wishes scribbled on fancy paper. _

_Or— he can let it go and let it be. Fucked up as the letters were, he’ll take them, as it’s the closest he’ll ever get to having her in his life again. _

_When it comes down to it, he doesn’t really want to find out why she left. _

_Onward he goes. A shitty past doesn’t mean that he couldn’t become the best person he can be. _

_Besides, he found a way to feel like he mattered with the career he had chosen. Giving himself to others fills that empty void that he was cursed to live with. There’s a new beginning waiting for him in a place called Raccoon City, and he just couldn’t wait to lose himself in the joy and fulfillment of being in the force; he’s gonna be a real-life superhero, and to succeed at it, he has to leave all these baggage behind._

_Time heals, as the saying goes. It’s all going to pass and never come back to haunt him ever again. _

_What an exciting first day on the job it’s going to be. _

**~**

He was on the verge of sleep when he was pulled back tenderly by soft kisses to his temple, to his cheek, to his shoulder just right over the scar. His eyelids fluttered in a weak attempt to open his eyes. His mouth quivered in an effort to speak the words he’d always spoken when this moment comes: stay a little longer. 

Not that she’d listen. She’d be long gone even before the morning comes. There will come a day when he’d wake up to find her still beside him. But they’re not there yet. 

Back then, he couldn’t even get her to stay and hold him as he fell apart. Now she’s leaving trails of kisses before she vanishes. Someday, he’ll get her to stay long enough that she’d be able to trace every scar in his entire body with her eyes closed. They’ll get there. Or maybe not. Who knows— he never makes plans that far ahead.

He’d been held so tenderly by different hands before; given equally warm kisses in between rich promises of acceptance and security. When the first ray of light comes through the window, he’d open his eyes to find them; they stayed without him having to make any pleas. 

All that in exchange of taking a risk. Close your eyes, they said, open up and let us in. Trust in us. We will always be here.

He sunk those ships in the midst of their smooth sailing at that first sign of steering toward uncharted waters. 

_This_ is the only ship he’d like to be on. It stays in familiar territory. The waters may be turbulent, the waves unpredictable, but the ship remains afloat and never moves toward the unknown.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. 

This devil he knows— he doesn’t know her at all just the same. Her name isn’t real. Her motives forever a mystery. But she knew the right buttons to push and when to push them. She never demanded or explained. She never promised or expected. She never stays, but never really goes away. And if that isn’t fate, then he doesn’t know what it is. 

Life’s been cruel. He doesn’t really want to know what’s good for him anymore. Once out there, he’ll be back to himself as the world knows him— a dauntless hero with supreme confidence and resilience. But in her presence, he’d always revert to being lost and torn— angry but longing, mistrustful but giving; a whirlwind of opposites, a mess of ambivalence. But the ending is the same every time, for she offered a sense of familiarity that soothed him to the core: 

She’d give him a taste and run away. He’d chase and she’d run faster. She leaves a trail. He follows. 

And that’s alright with him. 

That’s how it’s always been. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apparently, Leon Scoot Kennedy is how Leon’s full name is spelled in the manhua. Lol 
> 
> Capcom pls give us backstories for our main characters so I can stop writing about traumatic childhoods.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand that’s my take on why Ada acts that way around Leon for years. Hope you like it. 
> 
> Next chapter will be Leon’s side of the story.


End file.
